Homeward
by crazymac
Summary: When the dangers of battle separate King and General, one must hold strong against pressure to lose hope, and the other must fight to get back. Hephaestion must show his true worth and call on every ounce of inner strength to make his way home to his King
1. Chapter 1

**Homeward**

_Chapter One_

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-._

_It's the moment of truth and the moment to lie  
>The moment to live and the moment to die<br>The moment to fight, the moment to fight, to fight, to fight, to fight_

_To the right, to the left_  
><em>We will fight to the death<em>  
><em>To the Edge of the Earth<em>  
><em>It's a brave new world from the last to the first<em>

-'This Is War' by Thirty Seconds to Mars

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Blood. Sweat. Agony. Fear.

The General could taste them in the air.

They hung like a haze surrounding him.

The clash of metal on metal. Grunts. Groans. Screams.

Hephaestion watched the raw, savage violence.

What a horrific thing man has created. This thing they call war.

The mighty gods had created beasts with the ability to tear men to shreds, the great ocean that could swallow whole ships, and earthquakes and floods that could bury or wash away entire villages.

But war, this hideous masterpiece, it belonged solely to man.

They might pay tribute to Ares and they call the mighty Athena the goddess of war, but it was men that destroyed each other through it.

He saw men who had never met, never spoken, never even seen each other cut each other to shreds, and take each other's life. They cursed at one another and then drew the other's blood.

Hephaestion did not condemn the art of warfare. Had he not lived it his entire life? He knew that it was a necessary terror. And he would bravely fight and die for his King, just like all these men.

But unlike many of these warriors around him, he gave more thought to each man cut down by his blade, each life severed prematurely by his hand. Uneducated, simple minds could easily be bent to blindly hate. But as each man fell, Macedonian or barbarian, the General wondered how many wives and lovers would sleep in cold beds tonight, how many children would ask where their fathers were, and how many mothers would weep for their sons.

Blindly follow his King, he could do. But blindly hate, he could not.

For even though he had a strong head on his shoulders, and an independent mind, Hephaestion knew that if it came down to it, he would follow Alexander to the edges of this earth, and then jump right off those edges into the black abyss. Even if the rest of the army deserted them, all he would need to carry on was the warmth and security of Alexander's hand held tightly in his own.

He had pictured it before, the two of them standing on the edge of the world, looking out, nothing above and nothing below.

Alexander would slide his hand easily into Hephaestion's, turn and give a small grin as he said, "What do you say we press on a little farther, Phai?"

The adventurer in Alexander getting the best of him, Hephaestion would see the glint in his eye indicating that the King's mind was already made up. Hephaestion would simply smile in return. And hand in hand, they would step off into the emptiness, perfectly happy as they were swallowed up together by the unknown.

Even at this very moment the Macedonian general knew that he and his King both stood on the edge of the unknown, the edge of a knife. One wrong move and they could be separated for eternity. Each time they entered battle, they teetered on the edge of a blade, both struggling desperately to remain balanced on the tip. All it took was one second of lapse in judgment and their hearts would be driven apart by hard, cold, unfeeling death.

Hephaestion could pretend that he did not worry before and during battle for his love, but he did. He could not let the worry and anxiety affect how he fought though. 'That would be counterproductive' is how Ptolemy once put it when Hephaestion had confessed his fears. And so he did his best to put it from his mind.

But after every battle, a small knot clenched in the pit of the General's stomach. And as more and more time past without seeing those warm brown eyes that he longed for, the tighter it pulled itself, until it felt as if he would be sick. Then a flutter of panic would set in Hephaestion's heart, air ceased to move properly through his lungs, and his blood froze in his veins.

His mind racing, Hephaestion would wonder if he should stop searching among the living for the King…

But then, out of the haze of violence and death around him, he would spot the messy mop of blond hair, drenched in sweat, and feel the gaze he needed on him. The world would right itself, the stars would realign in the heavens, and for the first time since the last time he had seen Alexander, he would breathe.

Right now he longed for that relief, that sense of freedom, that peace. But Hephaestion knew he must focus on winning this battle before any of that could become a reality.

The men that they fought now were some of the few that attempted to resist the Macedonian Army. And despite inferior weapons, numbers, and military expertise they had put up a good fight. General Hephaestion had to admit his respect for their commander.

They were in a superior standing as far as location. The barbarians had positioned their army on a slight incline, next to a deep ravine, at the bottom of which flowed a mighty river, securely protecting their left flank. And behind the opposing forces Hephaestion could see the oceanic rising and falling of hills, serving not only to protect their rear, but also were very easy for retreating men to disappear into.

Of course, all of this had been taken into account by Alexander and his corps of generals. And a decisive and tactical battle plan had been drawn up.

Hephaestion could not be certain how long ago it was that he watched, with the rest of the cavalry, most of the infantry march upon the opposing forces from the right, the most obvious and safe attack. The General had hated the feeling of waiting there, perched on the edge, tense and ready, but unable to take the plunge, just biding time.

He had felt a sense of relief when at last the cavalry rode hard and fast along the edge of the ravine, straight towards the adversaries' left, where the defenses were most likely to be weakest. They would be relying on the natural barrier to deter any hard-wearing attack there.

As they had moved ever forward towards the mass of humans waiting with the intent of slaughtering every single one of them, Hephaestion's heart had beat as hard and fast as the hoofs beneath him. Not from fear, but from the pure excitement and adrenaline that coursed through his body.

And from there to his present observation of the bloodshed around him, battle was very much a blur, as always. Only certain images stood out against the general chaos, flashes of death and blood.

Then a sudden glint of the sun reflecting off something moving towards him caught the General's eye, pulling him from his very out of place reflections.

Hephaestion ducked down to his right just in time to avoid the enemy spear hurling through the air at him.

He realized that he was lucky that he had reacted on time. He had let himself become distracted. This was not the time or place for his tumultuous inner musings.

So now he focused.

General Hephaestion rode hard into a more active part of the battlefield. It was becoming evident that the Macedonian army would be adding another victory under their belt, but the opposing forces fought as hard as ever. They were not willing to give up just yet.

Hephaestion cut down man after man, watching them fall to the blood soaked sand. He counted them off in his head: Someone's son. Someone's brother. Someone's husband. Someone's lover.

But then he caught sight of Alexander's face, and that commanded all of his attention. A few yards away, his King sat astride Bucephalus, blood splattered over his armor and skin, wielding his sword and fighting along side his men.

He looked so strong, glorious, and majestic. It was easy to see why his men followed him.

Hephaestion had once made a comment to Alexander in how he differed compared to other kings, who sat safely behind their men, never participating in the actual battle.

Alexander had given a small grin, "What true king would ask his men to do what he himself will not?"

And so Alexander now fought as a true King, along side the men that served him.

It was a relief to the General to catch a glimpse of his love; it reassured him that Alexander had managed to remain unscathed so far. He never attempted to keep tabs on his Xander during a battle, but any reassurance was always welcome.

Hephaestion then saw something that commanded his full attention. He watched as a massive barbarian warrior cut down soldier after soldier, taking many Macedonian lives. He was a huge man, wielding a sword and a spear, and using both very effectively. Obviously a talented warrior, this man hacked through Hephaestion's fellow Macedonians like one chops down weeds. Hephaestion hated to see so many lives lost, especially those of his comrades.

As the vicious adversary killed infantryman after infantryman, the General knew that he must act to prevent further death, and him being mounted on a horse would be in his advantage.

He urged his horse, Damon, forward and raised his sword to strike. He was sure that one quick, strong blow would finish the soldier off, but just as he swung his weapon down to deliver the fatal blow, the man turned and deflected the strike with his sword, seemingly with ease.

Hephaestion yanked back on his reins, turning his steed to charge at the fierce warrior once more.

But on this charge he found himself on the defensive, as the man on the ground boldly thrust with his spear. The General dodged the strike, but it caught Damon's hind leg. Hephaestion heard the cry from his horse and felt his body quake with pain beneath him. This sudden attack caused the horse the rear back in pain.

Hephaestion settled his companion and observed that it was a minor wound, and he chose to push Damon on. He knew that his mount was strong and could fight through the pain.

He had backed away from his adversary in order to check on his horse's injury, Hephaestion looked back up to ride once again back into the fight and finish his man. But as he did he saw that the warrior was already charging towards him, weapons raised.

The General was now convinced that this man was insane.

He had never seen an infantryman charge by himself into straight on confrontation with a cavalryman. The disadvantage was too great. More times than not the man on the ground would be killed.

But the warrior did not attempt to strike at the General. Instead he thrust his spear viciously at Damon, causing the horse to skitter back in fear. Damon had once felt the sharp pain of the spear today; he did not wish to feel it again.

Hephaestion tried to turn the steed, move him so that he could have an easier angle to strike. But the opponent quickly readjusted himself and continued to push the horse backwards.

So the General attempted to urge Damon forward, to charge the man head on. But the battle trained horse was not complying. Hephaestion could not believe that the horse that had stood by his side through so many battles was now behaving like a frightened colt in the pasture. His heart began to race as he realized that he no longer had much control over the animal. It very quickly dawned on him how dangerous his situation was.

He contemplated abandoning the unruly horse, but could not bring himself to do that to his friend.

Suddenly he felt Damon's back legs falter slightly he turned to look behind him and realized all too suddenly what the man was doing.

All sense of loyalty to the animal beneath him vanishing, Hephaestion tried to swing himself off the horse just as the barbarian laughed and gave one final, strong thrust towards Damon.

The General felt him rear up, then felt his hind legs scramble beneath him, and then finally felt those legs fail, as both man and horse tumbled over the edge of the ravine.

It all seemed to happen slowly, yet it was still not enough time for Hephaestion to react.

As he fell through the air, the General reached his hands out to grasp at what was not there. His mouth opened but no scream was audible. All that he could feel was the rapid pounding of his heart in his chest and the cold air rushing past his body.

Then he felt the cold slap of his body hitting the water. Every cell in his body screamed at the pain. The frigid water bit as his nerves and the skin that had smacked against the hard surface of the water burned with fiery agony.

And then he was tumbling, his body thrown about. Hephaestion felt himself being pushed and pulled, left and right. His limbs flailing beyond his control, striking against unseen rocks as the current threw him about like a leaf in the wind.

The General could see nothing, just a swirling, muddy murk.

Fear consumed him as he registered his lungs beginning to scream for the air they lacked. His chest burned and his heart raced and he could not ignore the utter helplessness of his situation.

He kicked his legs furiously, but they got him nowhere. He couldn't even tell which direction led to the surface.

Before he knew it his mind became as murky as the water that entrapped him. He lost what little control he did have over his body. He floated helplessly as his lungs ached.

Out of nowhere, Hephaestion felt a hard force crack against the back of his skull. He watched the water around him run slightly red.

As he clung to consciousness, his eyes located a bright spot distorted by the movement of the water. He attempted to raise an arm and reach for it, as one hazy thought floated through his aching head, "_Alexander, my sun. I cannot reach you."_

And then he saw and thought no more.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Alexander rarely ever doubted himself. And he doubted in his quest into the continent of Asia even less. But in these moments, his self-assurance faltered slightly. In these horrible moments just after battle, he doubted slightly in his own judgment. In many ways, they are worse than the battle itself. It is in these moments that the price of his mission is laid out before him.

He felt his heart ache for the men scattered over the sand, many of them younger than himself. Their short lives cut far too early. One silent tear glided down the side of his face.

For some men that was the only mourning they would receive. Other than that they would be nameless faces killed in battle. But although the King shed only one tear, he mourned them all.

Not far from him, a man knelt by the lifeless body of one of his comrades, openly weeping. Alexander wondered what connection this man had with the fallen soldier.

Suddenly the man threw his head back and cried through the tears, "Have the gods no mercy?"

The King laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He could not hide the bleakness in his voice as he said, "The gods have mercy, but men seldom do."

He walked slowly away, not looking back. He was trying desperately to hold himself together.

And at that moment there was one face in particular he needed to see. Yet, his Phai was nowhere to be found.

Any time Alexander felt the bubbling force of anxiety come to a boil in his chest, he knew only one thing that could settle the inner turmoil. The calming touch of Hephaestion's hand and the soothing reassurance of his soft voice refortified Alexander's self-confidence and chased away his insecurity. He needed that now. He needed the serenity that always came with his Phai's presence.

The King soon found himself wandering around, asking a few other generals if they had seen him. Not one had.

As panic set in, Alexander began asking Hephaestion's men if they knew where their general was. He got nothing but bewildered faces and slow shakes of their heads.

Alexander knew something was off. It never took this long for him to find Phai, or for Phai to find him. He felt his body begin to quake with anticipation. His mind instantly jumped to the worst conclusions. Absolute terror flowed through his veins as more and more time passed.

Perceptive Ptolemy noted the obvious distress on his King's face and kindly offered his assistance. He walked briskly off to locate the missing General.

Alexander continued his search and after a few minutes he saw Ptolemy approaching, with him was someone that was clearly not Hephaestion.

It was a lowly infantryman. They came to stand before the King.

"Sire," Ptolemy said, his voice careful and grave, "Alexander."

Ptolemy's face and voice told him that something was very, very wrong.

"What is it?" Alexander said in the strongest voice he could muster.

"This man saw something. Something you need to know."

Alexander's heart was dying. He could feel its slow demise inside his chest.

The man visibly shook as he spoke to his King. His voice was low, careful, and weary.

"During the battle, Sire, I saw him. I saw General Hephaestion. He fought this huge barbarian, as big as a bear, near the ravine. Somehow the man, he forced the General to the edge, and then….then, the General, he…"

The nervous soldier looked to Ptolemy as he struggled for words.

In his dying heart Alexander knew what came next, but he had to hear the words. Until he did, he refused to believe.

Even Ptolemy was faltering, hesitating in his words.

The King almost shouted at his friend, "What is it? Tell me now, General!"

Everyone pretended not to notice that his voice broke sharply at the end, and that he was obviously barely holding himself together.

Ptolemy spoke, "Alexander, he fell."

And at that moment the King felt his stomach drop, his soul turn into a cavernous barren spot, and his heart shrivel into dust.

_"By the gods," _he thought, _"my life is over."_

* * *

><p><strong>Ok, so there is chapter one of my first real multi-chapter story. I'm a little nervous about this one since I mostly stick to oneshots...so I need lots of reviews to keep me encouraged and keep the updates coming! :) Hopefully I can have another chapter up by early next week.<strong>

**My apologies if the battle scene seems horribly inaccurate...I don't pretend to be an expert on battle tactics, let alone ancient battle tactics.**

**Each chapter will start with a song lyric. This one is from "This is War" a little ditty by Thirty Seconds to Mars. Their lead singer is a gentleman by the name of Mr. Jared Leto...maybe you've heard of him? ;) Anyways, check out the song, it's kind of epic!**

**Thank you so much for reading! Review, my lovelies, review!**

**xxcrazymacxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Homeward**

_Chapter Two_

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-._

_So tell me when you hear my heart stop  
>You're the only one that knows<br>Tell me when you hear my silence  
>There's a possibility I wouldn't know<br>So tell me when my sigh is over  
>You're the reason why I'm close<br>Tell me when you hear me falling  
>There's a possibility it wouldn't show<em>

_By blood and by me, and I'll fall when you leave_  
><em>By blood and by me, I follow your lead<em>

_-'_Possibility' by Lykke Li

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

As Nyx made the first signs of her appearance and painted the skies in her dark hues, Alexander watched the last rays of the sun disappear beyond the horizon. He silently demanded that the goddess of night retreat back and allow the sun to shine a bit longer.

"_Just a few minutes more." _He begged internally.

But alas, the light of day continued to fade and with it went any optimism that still existed in the King's heart. He could feel what was left of that heart sink ever lower with the sun.

For the past few hours he had made himself a shell, he was empty of any strong emotion. Alexander had quietly packed all his pain, fear, and anxiety neatly behind internal walls. These fortifications that he quickly assembled around his heart held back the tidal wave of agony that was ever growing inside him. He had decided very quickly to do this. Alexander knew that he needed a clear, open head in order to act.

And so he organized groups of soldiers and almost immediately after hearing of the tragedy, the King had the riverbank being thoroughly scoured for any sign of the missing General.

But, they had not gotten very far in the short time allowed by the cruel Nyx.

As the light retreated, Alexander felt the force of his anguish and worry threaten to break through the walls containing them. The horrible, frigid hand of fear began to grip at his aching heart.

He could barely register that someone was yelling his name as he sat astride his horse, frozen by his own inner turmoil.

"Alexander! Sire!" Cleitus called out as he rode towards Alexander, "My King, night is falling. We must return to camp."

The King struggled to set his face and attempted rid his expression of the panic that was beginning to show there.

"We can keep going. Yes, a bit longer will be fine." He said firmly, not only trying to convince his General.

Cleitus moved closer to the distressed man, an understanding, kind expression on his weather beaten face. He laid a reassuring hand on the King's forearm, which he could feel shaking beneath his touch.

"Alexander, I can only imagine what you must be feeling." He said softly, gently, "But you cannot allow this," he pointed a thick finger at Alexander's heart, "to keep you from using this." He moved to point at the other man's head, "We will accomplish nothing wandering around in the dark. And these men are exhausted, they wish to find their General as much as you wish to find your Phai, but we must turn back."

The sound of the endearing nickname of his lover passing through the lips of another caused an agonizing sensation of pain to shoot through Alexander's whole being. And then fiery anger flared up inside of him.

He furiously ripped his arm away from the comforting hand that had offered to console him.

"Do not ever let that name cross your tongue again, or I will cut it off myself." He growled furiously.

Cleitus was very obviously taken aback by that statement. The two stared at each other for a while, one confused and uncertain, and the other enraged and broken.

Despite his sudden flare of anger, in his head the King knew that Cleitus was right.

Finally he commanded tersely, "Have the men turn around. We are going back to camp."

Alexander looked back multiple times toward the river as they made their way up and out of the ravine. He longed to throw himself into it, in hopes that it would wash him away to where ever it had taken Hephaestion.

And he knew that even though his body rode back to camp astride Bucephalus, his heart was miles away, somewhere down river with his Phai.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

His body felt oddly numb and heavy when Hephaestion was finally able to crack open his eyes.

He was so cold.

Absolute darkness was all around him. The only distinguishable thing he could see was the soft glow of the stars in the heavens.

Every part of him was so, so cold.

Where he was and what had happened, he did not know. As he watched a shooting star dart across the sky in a streak of wavering light, he wondered why Alexander was not with him. Why he was not there to help him.

"_Please Xander," _he thought, _"make the cold go away."_

His vision began to darken around the edges and his lucidity began to once again ebb away. And with his last conscious moments he listened to the steady beat of his heart within his own chest.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Attempting sleep was a fruitless effort on Alexander's part.

He spent many hours nervously wandering around. Half the time he wasn't even really sure of what he was doing. He would suddenly dart over to his desk, and then get there completely unaware of what his initial objective had been.

He was so completely lost.

Alexander was sure that he had never been so utterly alone in his entire life.

He shivered despite not feeling cold.

When he finally chose to occupy his bed, sleep did not come any easier. He lay, blankly staring up at the ceiling.

The King of the Macedonian Empire, even in camp, had a bed more luxurious than most had in their homes.

It was large and soft; covered in thick, lavish blankets and piles of plush pillows. Anyone would say that it should have cradled any person effortlessly into sleep.

But tonight, Alexander found it lacking.

He found no comfort in it without the gentle movements of someone else shifting in sleep beside him. How was he expected to fall into slumber without Hephaestion's scent surrounding him, without dark hair spread over his pillows?

He thought of Phai, out there somewhere, just as lonely and desperate as him and he was overcome by a wave of pain.

Slowly, silently he slid a hand across the bed to the space that should have been occupied, but the hand did not meet soft, warm skin. All he felt was emptiness.

And only then, after hours of containing them, Alexander let loud, heavy sobs unrelentingly wrack his body.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

When General Hephaestion awoke for the second time, he had could not feel any specific part of his own body. All he could feel was the overwhelming pain. Every inch of his being ached.

A low groan reached his ears and he quickly recognized that it came from him.

Slowly, his eyes cracked open and sunlight poured into them. He continued to squint as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brilliance.

He lay as another groan escaped. The events that had led to his current condition came flooding back as he became ever more lucid.

Now the all over pain made more sense. He had been tossed about and thrown against rocks all down river. His body had been beat unrelentingly by the water.

Hephaestion could not believe that he still continued to breathe. He had been granted some great miracle.

He had expected as he had floated through the muddy water that he had breathed his last breaths, seen his last sunrise, and held his Xander's hand for the last time.

But now as he filled his lungs with air, listened to the strong pound of his heart, and blinked against the dazzling sun, he silently thanked the gods for this blessed second chance.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Hephaestion began to move. He did not know how much damage had been done to his body, so he thought it best to test for any injuries.

He started by simply flexing his muscles, putting tension through the strong bands, carefully observing any discomfort. They were stiff and sore, but he could not feel any major problems.

Feeling assured by the results of his first examination, the General began moving joins. He grunted lowly at the tenderness of his battered body, but there were no broken bones, torn muscles, or severe lacerations, so Hephaestion was optimistic.

He suddenly realized how dry his mouth was. His throat was parched and dry as a bone.

He started to move to get up and take a drink of the water that still lapped around his chilled feet and legs. But then he froze at the sound of hoofs moving over the rocky riverbed.

He quickly understood the vulnerable position he was in.

Here he was, very stiff, sore, and slow; and not really sure how he could move on his feet yet, for he had taken a bad blow to the head. He was unarmed and had no idea where he was. In essence, he was the perfect target to be taken advantage of or captured. He only had with him a small knife tucked securely in his belt. He could feel the smooth metal still resting there.

Slowly, the clop-clop of the hoofs neared, Hephaestion remained in perfect stillness. Until, finally, they stopped. With his heart beating against his ribs, he readied himself.

He took a slow breath as a shadow fell over him. And then, after biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment, he could feel a presence just above him. So suddenly, with a burst of energy, ignoring the protest of his aching body, he sprang to his feet and grabbed his blade in one swift motion.

He stood poised to strike, his knife glinting in the sun. But he saw that his efforts were wasted.

"Well, how nice to see you again." The General said to his horse as he lowered his weapon.

Damon took a few more steps forward, and Hephaestion reached out and laid a hand on the side of his neck.

He reluctantly admitted to himself what a comfort and relief it was to see a familiar face. Damon had stood by him through countless battles, and now he stands by him in a whole new kind of adventure.

"I'm very glad to see that you have earned the name that was given to you." He smiled faintly at the steed.

Damon snorted indignantly at the thought of anyone doubting in his loyalty.

"What have you gotten us into?" the man sighed.

Hephaestion rested his cheek to the side of Damon's neck. The horse's sun warmed coat heated his cold skin.

He could feel the strong pulse quivering under his cheek, and he marveled at the vigor of his companion. If it was amazing that he survived, it was truly a miracle that Damon had survived unscathed. It was a comfort to know that he had this tough friend to go through this with.

It would have been so easy to be weak in that moment. But listening to the strong heartbeat of his comrade instilled a fire of intense self-preservation. He fed off the power of his steed. He knew that right now weakness was not an option.

The General took a deep breath and then stood up straight to analyze his surroundings better.

The rocky riverbed lay in a valley between low hills. The vegetation consisted of hardy grasses and low, durable shrubs. He could see nothing that would indicate where he was.

All he knew about his environment is what he could see, and the vague understanding of the land that he learned from studying maps with Alexander as the army moved through the area.

He had no idea how far down river he had been swept or, for that fact, how long he had been unconscious.

Though there was a slight feeling of panic moving through his veins, he kept a clear head. Somehow he needed to find his way home.

Upon thinking of the word 'home' all he could picture was Alexander's face.

Of course, for him home was most certainly not an army camp, or his tent; not even Pella held that connotation for him. Home for Hephaestion is where ever he can feel Alexander's arms around him.

That is where he needed to be.

The most obvious and smartest strategy would be to follow the river. It would be a road back to where he started. A long, winding, difficult road. But it would get him back to the battlefield, and from there he could easily find his way back to camp.

Not only would the river serve as an easily followed route, but it also gave him unlimited access to precious water.

The only kink his analytical mind could see was that the army would most likely not stay put. Camp would most certainly move. And though he could remember the plans drawn up of the next movements of the forces, it could not be guaranteed that they would be stuck to. If he did not get back before the army marched on and they changed course in way, he would be completely at a loss.

His heart began to pound at the thought, his anxiety getting the best of him.

But he had no time to waste, he must make the most of every second of daylight allowed to him. He must move as quickly as possible.

His road will be long, rough, dangerous, and demanding. But if it led to home, led to Alexander, it would be worth traveling a hundred times over. A thousand times over. A million times over.

He squatted at the waterside and took a deep drink of the cool water from his cupped hands. Mentally he was preparing himself for the trials ahead. He stood slowly and glanced around once more.

As he approached Damon, he unstrapped his heavy armor and then secured it to the horses back. The heat of the day was being to create sheen of sweat on his brow. He tied his long, damp hair back with a strip of leather.

He checked to see that the dagger he had replaced back into his belt was still there. It was his only protection, and only tool. It was vital that he had it.

Mounting Damon, his aching muscles protested. He sighed as he finally came to sit astride the animal.

His fingers found the coarse hair of Damon's thick mane, as he bent to speak into his mount's ear.

"Let's go home."

And with that, he flicked the reins putting them in motion. The journey upstream had begun.

The progress seemed excruciatingly slow for the General, but he remembered that each step he was another step closer to Alexander, another step closer to home.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope that this was a good follow up for you guys! Please, please, please keep the reviews coming!<strong>

**The wonderful Lykke Li provided the lyrics for this chapter. 'Possibility' is a great, almost haunting song that I recommend you check out.**

**As you may have noticed, the names of all original characters in this story are very important. Like Hephaestion's horse. Damon is the Greek name meaning loyal. I found it fitting since he is sticking with Phai through a hard time. So now you have a little spoiler, there will be a few more OCs. Watch for the names, they always fit the character. **

**Reviews=:D**

**xxcrazymacxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Homeward**

_Chapter Three_

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-._

_All I see turns to brown  
>As the sun burns the ground.<br>And my eyes fill with sand  
>As I scan this wasted land.<br>Tryin' to find  
>Tryin' to find<br>Where I've been._

-'Kashmir' by Led Zeppelin

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

After a few hours following the seemingly unending riverbed, Hephaestion came to the deduction that a river was the perfect symbol of unbound freedom.

He followed the bank as it wove through the terrain, curving and bending fluidly where ever it wished. The water could not be held back by anything that nature threw at it. It constantly flowed to reach its own level. It cut deep cracks in the low, rocky, mountains, eroding away the land over hundreds of years.

The river he followed had no direction, no borders, no limits. It ran wherever it willed.

And under normal circumstances, Hephaestion would have seen the body of water's freedom as a wonderful thing to reflect on. But with the sun beating down on his back, and the anxiety wearing heavily on his mind, he wished the river would have been a little less of a libertine, and would just shoot him in a straight path towards his destination.

He did his best to be efficient. Cutting across the land where the river bent and then re-bent in one direction, rather than following the bank. But the evermore-mountainous terrain was beginning to prevent that.

He dared not push Damon past a slow, steady trot, afraid of wearing the animal out. He remembered that his companion had been through as much as he had.

He did his best to tuck away the eating worry and fear threatening to overtake his mind. Those negative emotions would do nothing but hinder him at this point. He focused his mind with extreme determination on his sole objective.

His road winded ever onward. He did not think it was possible that he went so far down river. But as sunset approached it was clear to him he would not return to camp that day.

This set up a whole new set of obstacles and worries for him. Now he was stuck in the wilderness, during the chill of the night, with little protection.

The sun sank slowly towards the ground and Hephaestion dismounted. He allowed Damon to drink before leading him away from the bank a bit, closer to the slow rise of the low cliff that the river had carved itself into.

He dared not sit; for fear that he would not have the energy to force his weary body to rise once more.

So he moved about, making preparations for the night. He gathered small, dry twigs from the low shrubs sprouting from the side of the cliff and dead leaves to use as kindle.

With the last rays of fading light, the General scoured the riverside until he located what he searched for.

He reached down and snatched up the shiny black rock from where it had hidden amongst the useless gravel of the riverbed, with a small victorious grin pulling at his lips.

Walking back over to where his makeshift camp was starting to take shape, Hephaestion pulled his knife from his belt. He squatted next to the small nest-like formation he had created out of dry, coarse grass and leaves. Then striking his knife to the flint with a strong downward motion, he watched small sparks spring to life in the fading light. For several minutes he watched them scatter over the rocks and die. Then one caught in the kindle and the tiny ember glowed.

He snatched the kindle up almost greedily and gently blew onto the spark. He breathed life into it. With each breath the ember burned slightly brighter, until finally, a tiny flame burned in his hands.

He let the light grow in his grasp. And then, when it was strong enough he let it catch to the small twigs. Soon a small fire crackled merrily before him. A grin pulled at Hephaestion's lips, with the general glee that man receives from creating something out of nothing.

Hephaestion had enough foresight to gather food whenever it showed up along the river that day, though it rarely did. But he had a few handfuls of berries to eat. He had even managed to stand still enough in a calm part of the river, convincing a fish to swim close enough for him to stick with a swift motion of his knife.

He put the fish to cook over his tiny fire.

Then, after removing the heavy burden of his armor from Damon's back, the General sat down on Damon's saddlecloth, which he had spread over the ground, staring distantly into the fire.

He had felt fine enough when his mind was occupied, while moving around. But now the cold and loneliness were sneaking up on him.

He found his mind getting lost in the flames, so caught up in contemplative thoughts, that he almost let his fish burn.

He ate what he had, but the pitiful amount of food could not satisfy his hunger. He would have to work hard to get more food tomorrow.

With the dark making the world around him smaller, his thoughts turned to the one placed he willed them not to.

Alexander's face flickered into his mind's eye.

Never in his life had he felt so desperately lonely.

Hephaestion silently leaned back and wrapped himself in the saddlecloth. Then he tried to imagine that instead of a thin cloth that smelled of horse, he was wrapped in the warm embrace of his lover's strong arms.

But the starkness of reality could not be drowned out by hopeless delusions.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hephaestion awoke rather early. The gray haziness of night still hung in the sky. But the dazzling light of day was beginning to chase it over the horizon.

It's just as well, he thought. Now he would get an earlier start. Now he would be able to dedicate that much more time.

The fire from the night before had burned itself out. Silently, the General prayed that this would not end up being a horrible kind of metaphor for himself. For though he was heartily dedicated to his task, he dreaded spending another day mounted on his horse, riding an unknown course to an uncertain end.

After standing and stretching his still stiff muscles and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he walked to the waters edge. Squatting on the bank, he drank from his cupped hands and then he splashed the cold water onto his face, rubbing it over his skin.

Loyal Damon came to drink next to his master, his hoofs sinking into the soft soil of the bank.

"Are you up for another day?" Hephaestion turned to look at his comrade.

In response, Damon lifted his head from the water and stared the man directly in the eye. An indignant snort escaped the horse's nose.

"Good." The General smiled.

He threw the saddlecloth over Damon's back, and then grabbing a hunk of mane mounted him. He dug his heels in and the two marched on.

Hephaestion tried to focus on the sounds of his steed's steps, to think only of the gentle clopping noises and the sounds of the rocks beneath his hoofs.

He was attempting to take his mind from the hollow beating of his own aching heart. He was beginning to wrap his mind around how much was at stake, how much he could lose.

What if he met his fate on this journey? What if he died? What if he got there and found that the army had moved on and he could not trace them? What if he got there and found that Alexander had moved on?

What if…What if…What if…

Hephaestion cursed those words and everything they did to men. More worry was wrapped up in those two words than any amount of words spoken by an anxious mother.

To think of nothing is a most difficult task, Hephaestion learned. He was sure that no man would ever accomplish such a thing as an empty mind. Absence of thought does not become the human nature.

The hours passed with mind numbing similarity. The landscape changed only subtly. Though it was becoming a little greener and a little less rocky. Hephaestion took this as a good omen.

But his good omen would not get him far.

He chose to dismount and walk along side Damon for a ways, allowing the horse to rest a little. So the two trudged on, the General leading his steed by the reins.

They approached a sharp bend in the river and Hephaestion thought very little of rounding the abrupt corner formed in the side of the cliff the river had carved itself into.

The two turned, but were halted as an ominous sound reached both sets of ears.

Hephaestion felt his heart sink into his gut as a low, rolling growl suddenly echoed through the valley.

He found himself staring at a Persian leopard, crouched defensively over the carcass of her latest prey. The General had interrupted her feeding.

Frozen in fear, the stench of blood and the sight of it dripping from the cat's mouth overwhelmed Hephaestion.

The growling continued like the constant rolling of distant thunder as the animal's lips curled back to reveal long, ferocious teeth, flashing him a sinister sort of smile.

The sound of his own racing heart was deafening to Hephaestion.

His hand itched to reach for the knife in his belt, but he resisted making the sudden movement. He prayed for Damon to remain calm and trust his master.

The leopardess stepped forward slowly over the body of her victim with her head low and black eyes intent.

The General slowly, oh so slowly, raised his foot and began to take smooth, easy steps back. He was breathing hard as fear ricocheted around his mind. The bloodied remnants of the leopardess's meal seemed to him to be a sinister sort of foreshadowing.

The wild cat stalked a few more steps toward him. Her large paws padded slowly and silently over the rocks. Her steps were slow and careful; they seemed almost soft, almost gentle.

Hephaestion countered with equally slow and equally silent steps backwards, retreating helplessly from the beast.

Damon, though, shuffled anxiously next to him. The ever closer proximity of the other animal was causing the horse to panic.

Then, several things happened almost simultaneously.

The leopard let out a violent snarl. Hephaestion stumbled over a large stone. And Damon's fear got the best of him.

As the General's ankle gave out, he fell to the ground. And Damon suddenly reared up and neighed loudly with fright.

At this sudden clamor and upheaval, the cat made her strike. Threatened by this disturbance, she lunged forward swiftly.

Hephaestion had only a split second to react. From his spot on the ground he rolled to the side to avoid her pounce, pulling his knife out as he did.

The animal's momentum caused her to skitter over the rocks and gravel, but she regained her footing with quick agility.

The General got to his feet and could see Damon's retreating figure disappear around the sharp corner.

At least one of them would escape.

But he knew that running was not an option for him. He would be swiftly overtaken by this fast cat. And so he stood and fought. His tiny knife against those long teeth, that powerful jaw, and those terrifying claws.

The leopardess began to circle him, looking for a weakness in his defense, waiting for a lapse in his guard. He countered her moves, keeping her in his line of sight.

Though his heart beat rapidly from adrenaline, he was surprisingly calm and focused. He knew that this would most likely be his end, but he wouldn't allow his life to end without one hell of a fight.

He was acutely aware of the tension beginning in the cat's hind legs, and he anticipated the leap before it even happened.

As she lunged, he did also; out to the side, avoiding the large paws that threatened to tear his skin clean away.

But the cat recovered quicker than the man. And as he struggled to regain his footing on the sore ankle that had turned on the rocks, she re-launched herself back at him.

His heightened perceptions made everything seem to move slower. Though it all happened quickly, he was able to take in all of it.

Hephaestion saw the claws pierce his skin before his mind registered the pain. And then as he watched the teeth sink into the flesh of his right thigh, he felt the nerves begin to scream.

The wild beast had mauled at his right ankle, clamping onto him as she bit down into his thigh.

Every synapse in his brain shrieked with agony as his leg felt as if it was on fire.

He was sure that he screamed aloud in anguish, but he could not hear himself.

He felt his death; it was almost tangible to him now. It overcame him, a heavy black cloak weighing on his body.

As his body quaked, he suddenly felt in the dark, hidden recesses of his mind a new power take over. A kind of primal drive seized control of his body. An unconscious will fought through the suffering and gave his body the strength to grip the handle of his knife. Then, subconsciously knowing that the beast was distracted by her own attack, he made his.

The warrior in him taking over, he rose up ferociously as if a man rising from the grave. He swung his arms high and plunged the metal into the soft flesh of the leopardess.

A deep, guttural, primeval yell tore from his throat and mixed in the air with the shill screams of the wounded animal.

The General tore his tattered leg from the clutches of the diverted cat and ripped his weapon from its side. He raised it once more and with a grunt, slit along its throat, delivering the deathblow.

The cat took its last breaths with its blood spilling over the rocks and mixing with the blood that had flowed from Hephaestion's leg. Hunter and prey became one.

Man had conquered beast and smote him on the riverbed.

The adrenaline began to ebb away and as Hephaestion's mind pulled away from battle mode, the pain registered once again, even more fiercely than before.

He groaned and took several deep breaths. Then, he forced himself to look at the damage.

It was hard to examine through all the blood. He continually told himself to keep his head and stay calm. If he panicked he would probably pass out.

There was a lot of blood, and even more pain. It was the type of pain that the body couldn't even turn into tears. Hephaestion gritted his teeth.

But then his head flew up and his eyes looked frantically around as a new noise reached his ears.

The sound of horses moving over the rocks. Far too many horses.

Then an even worse sound. Voices.

They were coming straight towards him. He listened to them echo off the cliffs around him.

The General was almost panicking more now than when he faced the leopard.

At least animals have mercy; his death would have been quick. But at the hands of another human, who knows what miseries he would have to suffer.

Desperately, he scrambled over the rocks, grabbing his knife, though he knew it would most likely do him little good.

Then he rose and tried to move forward, but the pain in his leg was unbearable. He collapsed on it. Hephaestion bit back the scream of anguish that threatened to pour from his mouth.

He used his arms and good leg to pull himself over to the side of the cliff. He found a niche between the cliff and a large boulder and crammed himself into it as the voices got closer and closer, the hoof beats got louder and louder.

His heart slammed against his rib cage.

He could hear the horses now, they were rounding the curve, and they would be on him in seconds. He prayed silently, his soundless litany quivering on his lips.

Hephaestion's heart dropped though, as he heard the hoof beats stop, and voices begin to speak in a strange tongue.

Then it suddenly occurred to him. The carcass of the mutilated leopard. He had left it lying there.

His eyes closed slowly, as he realized his grave mistake.

He heard several distinct voices conversing, though the words meant nothing to him.

His breathing quickened, shallowed.

The slow steady footsteps of a man were then heard…growing nearer.

The General physically slumped when he realized that he had left a map to his hiding spot. He had painted a trail over the rocks with his own blood. All these strangers had to do was follow the path.

As a shadow blocked the sunlight, Hephaestion raised his eyes to his fate.

But he could not take in the face before he was violently yanked up and thrown out into the glaring sunlight.

Fighting the pain threatening to overtake his mind, he glanced around. There were seven of them, all mounted, all armed.

He felt utterly weak and exposed.

He struggled to sit up.

A few things stood out very quickly, they were all darkly complected, with dark hair. They wore light clothing that seemed cool, but covered their bodies from the harsh rays of the sun.

He again heard footsteps from behind. The man that had found him squatted down in front of him and scrutinized his face.

This man was tall, and rather thin. But his form was intimidating, with long arms and wide shoulders. He had an ugly face. Deep set black eyes, a wide, broad nose, and thin lips. And a single white, curved scar ran down the length of the entire left side of his face and mangled the left corner of his lips.

Those distorted lips opened and the man spoke to him. His voice was deep and almost like a growl. Hephaestion did not recognize the language he spoke.

He kept his expression blank, hating being at the mercy of these men. His hand yearned to grab the knife hidden in his belt.

The stranger spoke again, this time even gruffer. He repeated the same empty syllables.

Again, Hephaestion remained vacant.

The man's lips curled in anger, or at least the right side did. And in a flash he had a knife whipped from his belt and against the General's throat.

Hephaestion swallowed.

This knife was twice the size of his. It was warm from the heat of the day and reflected the sun's blinding light into his eyes.

The same empty words were repeated, each emphasized with a slight press to his throat.

Then another voice rang out. The man with the scar turned his head over his shoulder, as if his name had been called.

Another rider approached from around the bend, obviously one of their comrades. Behind him he led another horse. Hephaestion instantly recognized Damon.

Damon was nervous and jittery. He whinnied anxiously and stamped his hoofs as they stopped.

'Scar' as Hephaestion began to think of him, rose and walked up to Damon. He touched him on the nose. Hephaestion longed to yell at him not to dare touch his horse.

Scar moved to Damon's side and ran his thick fingers over the saddlecloth, examining it. Then, he grabbed Hephaestion's armor, which was still strapped to the horse's back.

He picked up each piece and inspected it closely. He ran his fingers over it, touching each dent, each scratch. The sun glinted off of it.

Hephaestion felt violated. This stranger, this potential enemy, was petting his horse and stroking his armor; two very dear and personal things to a soldier.

His fists clenched.

Then a devilish, wicked grin pulled at the sides of Scar's distorted mouth. He turned his gaze slowly back to where Hephaestion sat helplessly.

Scar approached him and spoke again, this time the words were quite a bit more familiar to the General.

"Well, well. You are very far from home, are you not, my Greek friend?"

His Greek was thick and strangely accented, it was slow and plodding. And now that Hephaestion could understand the words, it was not hard to miss the cold streak that ran through his voice.

Hephaestion could tell by Scar's expression that his face was no longer blank and indifferent. It was covered with surprise at the other man's deduction and at being addressed in his native tongue.

Scar continued smiling.

"My comrades," he continued in his queer Greek, "We have a member of the Macedonian army among us."

He looked about at his companions' faces and continued.

"In fact, we have a Macedonian _General_ among us."

Hephaestion was not sure what to make of this, but from the malicious smiles forming on all the faces around him, he knew it was not good.

He took several deep breaths, working up his courage. Then he spoke.

"I am of no use to you." He reasoned. "I have been separated from the army for many days. I know nothing of their location or plans. I have nothing for you. No gold, no information. Let me go."

He lied only slightly in his little speech.

Again, Scar smiled at him. Hephaestion was growing to hate smiles.

"No, you are of no use to us. We are not enemies of the Macedonian Army. But, we are not friends either. For we are loyal to none but ourselves."

His voice sounded reasonable and Hephaestion dared to hope.

"But you are of use to_ somebody. _And when we find that _somebody _they will pay a great sum for you."

The General's mind swirled as he wrapped it around this concept. He was to be taken captive, sold to an enemy, and then probably tortured and killed for information.

With this, he made a very sudden decision. He would rather die now than suffer endlessly at the hands of someone, and risk that his will would not withstand the pains of torture. He would rather face certain death, than possibly putting his comrades at risk, putting Alexander in danger.

So when Scar bent down before him and asked in an overly friendly voice, "What is your name, General?" Hephaestion glared at him with defiant eyes.

He let several tense seconds pass, counting each one with a beat of his heart.

"My name?" He said slowly, raising his gaze up to the man.

"Yes, your name."

Hephaestion ignored the protest of his injured leg as he launched himself at the man and his ridiculous smile. Scar was not ready for such an attack. Hephaestion had sat there docile enough for a while now. The General knocked him down and punched him in the mouth.

He seized the small knife hidden in his belt and raised it up to cut the man, but his arm was caught. He was dragged off Scar's body.

Then he heard a sickening crack. Felt a great pain in his head. The world went black.

* * *

><p><strong>So this chapter was very Hephaestion-centric. I just really like the idea of him showing his true colors as a fierce Macedonian warrior. Hopefully you guys like where the plot is going.<strong>

**Lyrics are from Led Zeppelin's masterpiece Kashmir. Robert Plant actually wrote the lyrics while traveling through the desert to a place called Kashmir in Northern Pakistan, so I felt like it really fit Phai's situation. Hopefully you have heard the song before, being that it is a classic. If not, fix that fact and check it out. It's truly an amazing piece of music.**

**Reviews help me get the next chapter out, so please let me know what you think!**

**xxcrazymacxx**

**xxcrazymacxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Homeward**

_Chapter Four_

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-._

_Crazy as it sounds you won't feel as low as you feel right now  
>At least that's what I've been told by everyone<br>I whisper empty sounds in your ear and hope that you won't let go  
>Take the pieces and build them skywards<em>

_Cause I've started falling apart I'm not savoring life_  
><em>I've forgotten how good it could be to feel alive<em>

-'Machines' by Biffy Clyro

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hephaestion had to blink several times, slowly, before the world came into focus. It was a difficult task; trying to take in scenery as it was moving. He found that the world consisted of, at least according to his eyes, a multitude of ever changing stones, sand, and a few low weeds. They all almost blended together as they moved through his line of vision.

With a sharp ache in the back of his head, Hephaestion came to realize that he was slung across his horse, gazing down at the ground. Attempting to move his hands, he found them bound at the wrist.

He felt his heart pounding in the spot on his head. Each beat twinged horribly. He watched, through blurring, vision a few red droplets fall to the ground and splatter on the rocks.

He then closed his eyes and unwillingly slipped back into the nothingness.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Alexander watched another wasted day come to a close through the opening of his tent. The setting of the sun marked a new kind of torture for him.

Night became a thing he feared. It was a time of horrible helplessness for him.

Daylight meant that he could be proactive. He could take action in finding Hephaestion. He could go ride along the riverbed. He could consult with his generals. He could stare over the horizon with hope that a figure would suddenly appear there.

At night, he did not get that luxury.

He was set in utter inactivity. His tent walls closed in around him. The world was made smaller and with that his pain became larger. He felt more acutely his loneliness and fear.

He would rather face the depths of Hades than another night without his Phai.

Two figures suddenly came into his view, blocking out the last rays of the diminishing sun.

Ptolemy and Cleitus entered the tent quietly and approached Alexander uneasily.

"I suppose that you are already aware that nothing new was found today." The older general said softly.

Alexander continued to stare dejectedly out of the tent.

"Yes, I inferred as much."

Several tense moments passed, as they stood awkwardly in their King's presence.

Ptolemy opened his mouth a few times to speak, but repeatedly ended up closing it again.

Alexander finally sighed and said, "Say whatever it is that troubles you so, Ptolemy."

The King raised his sad eyes to meet his friend's. The two generals exchanged guarded looks.

"I simply…I just want…" The General approached the subject carefully, warily. "You need to be prepared to…be able to move on."

Alexander's expression tightened, head cocking slightly to the side, as if not quite sure he heard correctly. He felt a slow anger begin to boil somewhere in his chest.

Several quiet, tense seconds past, with Alexander's fiery glare searing into his General. He was quite certain that he needed to punch the man in the mouth for such an insolent and intrusive comment.

Poor Ptolemy floundered helplessly pinned under such a glare. He again opened his mouth to speak, but was unable to make words come out.

"I think what Ptolemy means is that you should consider, begin to think about moving forward _physically, _the army as a whole cannot linger here forever." Cleitus clarified slowly.

"Yes!" Ptolemy agreed. "That is what I meant. I would not presume to tell you to move on emotionally, that would be…"

The general trailed off awkwardly as Alexander's expression remained unchanged.

The King rose slowly; he fought to retain the slew of curses that were building up in his throat.

"The army," he growled, "will remain as long as need be."

Cleitus spoke up again.

"It's been three days since the battle with no sign of Hephaestion whatsoever. My King, we cannot expect the army to stay here forever. You need to begin to come to terms with this, to stop the denial, to accept and grieve and move forward. I say this as your friend. I do not speak with cruelty or indifference. I know this is difficult-"

Alexander, who had turned his back to them somewhere in the middle of Cleitus's speech, whirled around violently.

"Difficult?" He yelled. "Difficult you say? You mock me with that word! You mock my anguish with that word! The human tongue cannot convey the agony that is in my heart. You do not know how I feel! You do not know what I suffer!"

By the last sentence he was screaming at the two men, his outer façade began to crumble and the raw edges of pain started to show.

He turned from his comrades once again, trying desperately to gather himself. He had been only letting those uncontrolled emotions overcome him in the darkness and solitude of night.

He spoke again, more calmly, but he was unable to keep in the unadulterated emotion from leaking through. He felt himself slipping away in the pain.

"Last night, I fell into restless sleep in the early morning, for this first time in days. My dreams…they were terrible. I awoke suddenly to an empty bed. But I was still incoherent with slumber, still half asleep. So I rose and wandered outside into camp, to his quarters. I sought out his comfort. But I entered to the emptiness and the world crashed around me. It was like losing him again. Everything is empty without him."

Alexander did not fully understand why he told Ptolemy and Cleitus of this, the words came out before he knew he was speaking.

He then whispered so quietly that he was not sure if the Generals could hear him, "His absence is almost tangible."

There was silence. The General's did not know how to respond. They felt for their friend and King. They empathized with him and hated seeing him in this pain. But most importantly, they too felt the sting of the loss of Hephaestion, their friend.

Alexander brought his hands to grip this golden hair at the roots.

"The army will remain as long as need be." This time he had his voice fully in control. He spoke forcefully and with authority. He dismissed the other men with a quiet, "Leave me."

They turned in sync and moved to exit, but were stopped by their king speaking once again.

"And you would do best to remember who the king and commander of this army is. _He _will be the one to decide when to move forward."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The world was considerably more stable the next time Hephaestion could open his eyes. But he could see very little of it. He found himself in vague darkness.

It took him a few minutes to finally gather that he was seated on the ground, propped up against a post of some sort. Blinking and getting his bearings, he deduced that he was in a small tent. He could see the flickering glows of a few campfires through the flimsy, cloth walls. Strange words were being exchanged outside in foreign tongues. And shadows moved in front of the fires, briefly causing the glow to flicker.

His leg throbbed horribly. The sharp pain of his injuries had not subsided. Instead now they seemed to burn with the intensity of a raging flame. The pain threatened to engulf his mind.

He was suddenly aware of the ache in his shoulders, but when he made to move, he found his efforts halted by an outside force.

Glancing up, he saw thick ropes wrapped around his wrists, pulling his arms up over his head, secured to the post.

And it all flooded back to him. He was a prisoner. He was to be sold into slavery or for information.

Frantically, he struggled. He pulled hard against his binds, twisting and tugging, trying desperately to wrench free of them. He must have been there awhile, for his shoulder muscles ached from remaining in the uncomfortable position, and protested against this activity.

But he continued to strain against them, thrashing frantically.

That is until a cool voice reached out to him through the darkness.

"Continue doing that and you will only succeed in peeling away the skin of your wrists against the rope. Then you will have even bigger problems."

Hephaestion froze and dropped his gaze once more. He found himself staring at a young woman, who stood at the entrance of the tent. She held in her hand a single lamp, which cast eerie shadows over her face.

He watched silently as she entered and set something on the ground next to him. In the dim light he could make out very little.

But she spoke as she continued to move about, lighting other lamps around the tiny tent.

"You will rub your wrist raw; then you will be in constant agony as the tender flesh grates against the ropes. And an infection will eventually set in that will most certainly get into your blood and kill you."

By the end of her lecture the tent had a faint glow, so he could see a bit more clearly. The General blinked several times to get used to the change.

The stranger approached from behind him and entered his line of sight.

"So you see," She said kneeling in front of him. "It is better to not fight it."

A flicker of a smile flashed over her full lips.

Hephaestion could not deny she was beautiful in a wild, untamed sort of way.

Her body was womanly, but strong; curvy with wide hips. She wore a crude dress and her thick, dark hair hung unkempt and windswept around her shoulders. Almond shaped eyes gazed at him from behind a thick layer of lashes with a strange intensity, which seemed more natural than intentional. Her nose was thin and petite, it seemed to hang in the background as the bolder features of her lips and eyes took center stage. That mouth, despite its fullness had tightness around it. Its corners were down-turned and sharp. She was fair compared to the other Persian women he had seen before.

"Where am I?" Hephaestion croaked as she kneeled before him.

Her eyes glinted mischievously, "A thousand miles from nowhere."

He was frustrated by her cheekiness, "I am serious. Where are we?"

The woman's expression turned hard and her voice took on a sharp note, "I was serious too. We are in the middle of a godforsaken land, miles from any town or village. We are quite isolated, that's the way they want it."

The General didn't have to ask who 'they' were. He could see their shadows moving about outside, could hear their voices disturb the quietness of the dark.

The stranger brought a lamp close and opened the large wooden box she had entered with. He could not see the contents well in the flickering light. But he could see the mangled thing that his leg had become.

Hephaestion groaned at the sight of the swollen, bloody, torn up flesh. Though it was not nearly as bad as he had expected.

HepHhh

"What in the name of the almighty gods happened to you?" She asked in a low voice with the shake of her head. "Even those bastards couldn't have done _this_ to you."

He was slightly taken aback by such a harsh word coming out of the beautiful mouth of this woman. But he just answered her question.

"I had an unfortunate meeting with a leopard."

His voice was so scratchy and dry that it broke slightly at the end of his sentence and he coughed a few times to try to relieve the horrible roughness.

She rose and moved from his line of vision and then returned shortly saying, "It is a miracle that these are your only injuries then. Drink this."

She thrust a cup full of something under his nose. But he looked at her blankly and then nodded up to his hands bound over his head.

The woman smiled faintly, "Ah."

She reached up and somehow gave the rope enough slack that his hands dropped into his lap. Sighing in relief, Hephaestion rolled his shoulders several times, loosening the taunt muscles. Then, he took the cup that she offered him awkwardly in his bound hands and drank greedily. The cool water replenished him and he savored the wetness in his mouth. She filled it once more and gave it back to him. He sipped it slowly, rationing it this time.

She had a damp cloth; which she reached out and began pressing to his head. She dabbed at it carefully, squinting in the darkness.

"What are you doing?" He practically whispered to her.

"Healing you." She answered equally as quiet.

"Why?"

"Because you are wounded."

She drew the cloth away; he saw that it was stained deep red.

"Your head is split open, from where they struck you to knock you out I would guess. But it will heal well enough on its own."

She then moved her attention to his leg. She looked faintly lost, like she didn't know where to start.

"What happened anyway? What did you do to cause them so much trouble? They came riding into camp, spitting curses at you and your mother."

Hephaestion was not sure how to feel about this woman. She was so terribly blunt, yet he found her frankness refreshing. She was straightforward, unlike many women. She said what she meant and made no apology for it.

"I suppose I fought back." It was the only answer he could come up with.

"Fought back?"

"Yes." And he then proceeded to relate to her the story. Not his whole ordeal, but rather starting at his run-in with the leopardess.

As he spoke, she began to attend to his leg, dabbing away the blood from the wounds. She was intently focused, but nodded a few times during his story to show him that she was listening.

But suddenly, she pressed in just the wrong way, and a shock of pain ran up his spine and burst in his brain. He hissed audibly, and her large, keen eyes flashed up to his face, which was contorted with pain.

"Keep talking." She instructed him.

He was suddenly aware of what she was doing. The woman was distracting him, keeping his mind busy so he would not register the pain as easily.

So, he kept talking, kept relaying the story to her.

It was easy to speak to her. Her presence was strong, but comforting. And though she was very direct and candid, she had a gentleness and kindness about her.

When he finished she spoke, "No wonder Ahriman was so angry. He does not like to be challenged. His ego is too big, and too fragile."

The General assumed that Ahriman was the true name of 'Scar', the man he attacked.

By now she had cleaned much of the blood away, and was scrutinizing the wounds.

"By far not the worst I have seen." She commented.

She dug through her box.

"They say you are a general in the Macedonian Army."

He nodded his assent.

Then, suddenly, a thought enlightened him.

"How is it that you know Greek?" He practically demanded.

This woman very obviously had Persian features, yet had spoken to him in his indigenous tongue. He had been so comforted by the sound of familiar words that he had not paused to wonder how the foreigner could speak Greek so well, without hardly any trace of an accent. But now that he was listening for it, he noted a slight difference in the cadence of her phrases and the formation of her vowels. But it was hardly noticeable.

She did not look up at him or even acknowledge his question.

"This will hurt." She stated brusquely.

And with that she poured what smelled like strong wine over his leg.

The burn and sting was immense and his whole body tensed as he gritted his teeth against the yell of pain that jumped into his mouth. His hands clenched and unclenched, looking for something to grasp onto.

After the pain had ebbed away, slowly, he took a few drinks from his cup to try to settle himself again. His muscles still twitched a little at the lingering sting.

"What is your name, General?" she asked almost indifferently. Yet he somehow felt that she was truly curious.

It was the second time he had been asked that question by a stranger, yet this time for some unknown reason he seemed obliged to answer.

"Hephaestion."

She stopped rummaging through the items of her box to look up at him. She pinned him under those intense eyes.

"Hephaestion." She said slowly, as if she were tasting the syllables on her lips. "It is a beautiful name."

She dabbed at his wounded leg with a cloth again, pressing more alcohol into his deep cuts.

He felt the slow burn of tears sting his eyes and fought them back. He bounced his opposite foot tensely; giving his body something to do as he fought the urge to rip his leg away from this mysterious woman.

He was completely silent as she pulled from her box a long, curved needle and threaded what looked like horsehair through it. The General could feel his eyes grow as large as dinner plates.

She gave him a look that said, _'It has to be done.'_ And with that she pierced the needle through the abused skin of his leg and stitched him up like a blanket.

It was very painful, and the pulling sensation was extremely unpleasant. But it was over sooner than he thought.

"And you?" he said in a strained voice as she put away the needle and rummaged in the box. "What is your name?"

For the second time she dodged his question, and instead of answering she put something in her mouth and began to chew. After a few moments she removed it again and pressed the strange substance to the sewed up slashes on his leg.

"Herbs." She answered before he could question her. "They will prevent infection and help with the pain."

They did not speak as she wrapped layers of bandages around his injuries.

She finished and checked the lesion on his head once more.

"I will come to check on you again in the morning, and I will bring breakfast." She smiled warmly while saying the last part. "Try to sleep. Rest is always the best medicine."

She packed up her box of cures and moved to leave, but could not exit before Hephaestion said, "Why?"

She paused, confused at this inquiry.

"Why heal me if they will just sell me into slavery or captivity?"

She cocked her head and grinned, "Because if you die of infection or as a result of your injuries you are of no use to them."

Hephaestion huffed irritably.

Of course. All this charity was just for his captors' own sakes, for their own ends. The aid from a stranger was not given for the sake of kindness in its own right.

The woman saw these thoughts cross his face and turned to face him fully, "But you would do well to consider who reminded them of that fact. I _do_ have a conscience. And the Fates have a funny way of bouncing good deeds back to you."

She had spoken angrily, but when she turned to leave once more she was quiet and calm.

Hephaestion stopped her with one last question.

"Please. What is your name?"

She did not smile as the word crossed her lips, "Lissandra."

The General was completely surprised, as this name was undeniably Greek.

But she disappeared before he could comment. Leaving him with a quiet, "Sleep well."

* * *

><p><strong>Lyrics this chapter from the beautiful song Machines by the amazing Scottish band Biffy Clyro. I had the privilege to see them perform live earlier this spring opening for the Foo Fighters. Truly a great band and one of my favorites!<strong>

**I dedicate this chapter to my three lone reviewers for chapter three; Gif, SOphea, and Delos13. I love you guys. Thank you for the support. You keep me going.**

**Now I am not one of those writers who is all threatening and says "If I don't get so-many reviews I won't update." Because honestly I think that kind of stuff is crap. But if you take the time to read, why not take the time to review? Please don't be shy! Really, a simple "I love it." or "I hate it." is appreciated!**

**Ok, obviously new OC in this chapter. Lissandra. Will she help Phai, or hurt him. Stay tuned to find out! (hint: remember name meanings are connected to the character) ;)**

**Obscenely long A/N over. Please review. Thanks for reading!**

**xxcrazymacxx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Homeward**

_Chapter Five_

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-._

_Stand in the mirror, you look the same_

_Just lookin' for shelter from the cold and the pain_

_Someone to cover, safe from the rain_

_And all I want is to be home_

_Echoes and silence, patience and grace_

_All of these moments I'll never replace_

_No fear of my heart, absence of faith_

_And all I want is to be home_

-'Home' by The Foo Fighters

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Alexander knew he was dreaming. But there was something about this particular dream that made it overflow into the realm of reality, something that made it seem horribly authentic.

His heart pounded beneath his chest as he stood at the edge of the river. He did not know how he got there. The dream had simply opened with the water lapping at his toes.

He stood in the blinding sunlight, but looked up as clouds briefly skittered by, momentarily blocking the light. Then, looking back to earth, he saw something on the far bank, almost directly across from him. He squinted to make out what it was.

It did not take him long to identify the features, or recognize the movements of the body. He watched Hephaestion pace back and forth tensely. Alexander too started to feel distress seep up into his chest, as he realized that Phai had no way to cross the mighty waters.

Hephaestion did not seem to see that Alexander was there, watching him. And Alexander could not call out to him. All the King could do was watch with his heart in his throat, as his Phai slowly waded part way into the river. But by the time the water reached his knees, he must have found the current too strong, for he turned back to the safety of the bank.

Alexander wanted to move. He wanted to help; or at least let Hephaestion know he was there, that he was not alone. But he found that his body would not cooperate.

And so he was left there, stranded on the bank of the river, to simply wait and watch as Hephaestion languished on the other side.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

General Hephaestion awoke with a sudden start to his heart hammering against his ribs, and the slickness of sweat on his brow. He raised a hand to wipe away this perspiration, but regretted it as he accidentally pressed into the tenderness of the wound on his head.

He lay frozen for a few minutes as his body recovered from the anxiety of the dream he had just been pulled from.

The hazy details came back to him as his breathing slowed.

He remembered being at a wide river, its current sweeping swiftly past his feet. He had this great urge to cross the river, to get to the opposite bank. He did not know how to do so, but he knew that it must happen.

For he could feel a presence there, a presence that felt so far away, but yet within his grasp.

He could not see across the water, however. The sun shone blindingly in his eyes, and winked intensely at him, reflecting off the rushing water. But he did not need to see the face to recognize the presence.

He knew that Alexander waited on the opposite bank.

Frantically, he paced. How to get across, he did not know. The water moved rapidly, but the General chose to attempt to wade in it.

He had only made it about four steps before he found the current nearly pulling him off his feet. He had to turn back.

And standing there, lingering on the bank, the dream began to ebb slowly, disintegrating around the edges. Until finally, he was pulled roughly and quickly back into actuality.

He sat up slowly, touching his head tenderly where it throbbed. His fingers moved over the scabbed flesh. The pain in his leg had subsided somewhat, but he could not ignore the painful burn of his wounds.

He drew the leg up to him and attempted to push back some of the bandages, trying to get a look at how the wounds were fairing.

But as his fingers pulled at the cloth, he was halted by a sharp, "Don't."

Lissandra's voice was hard and commanding. He whipped his head around, finding the woman sitting not far from him, near the wall of the tent.

"Please don't blight my work." She sighed.

The General was startled, "I did not see you."

She rose to her feet and approached slowly, "I slept here last night. I came back after you had fallen to sleep. I hope you do not mind."

"Why would you do that?" Hephaestion asked with a furrowed brow.

"Ahriman was bothering me."

Lissandra squatted down and began examining his healing wounds.

"What did he want?"

"What all men want." Her gaze rose to his, hard and cold as stone. As if she blamed him for all the faults of every male in the world, as if he shared in all the sins of every man.

Hephaestion could not help but cower a bit beneath such a look.

She returned her eyes to where her hands were moving over his bandages; trying to repair the small amount of damage he had done. It was then that the General noticed the bruise blooming on her forearm. It was the clear imprint of a large hand.

"Did he do that?" Hephaestion asked, nodding to the blemish.

She ignored his question. "Tomorrow I will be able to take these off and get you some new bandages."

Hephaestion gently reached out and took one of her small, dark hands between his two large, bound ones. He looked into her eyes with care and concern.

"Lissandra?" He spoke softly.

She raised her gaze to his and her face seemed to soften.

"Why do you stay here?" The General asked with the shake of his head.

She suddenly and fiercely snatched her hand from his grasp.

"The fact that the ropes that keep _me_ here are less tangible than your's does not make them any less binding!" She snapped with fire in her eyes and poison in her words.

She stood quickly and turned away.

"Your breakfast is there." She said, pointing next to him before ducking out of the tent.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hephaestion did not see her the rest of the day. He simply awoke from a fitful nap in the early evening to find another plate of food and cup of water next to him. He ate, but was worried that he had alienated his only human contact. Loneliness crept over him with the dark.

He slept restlessly that night. He had dreams where unnamed horrors haunted him just beyond his sight. When dawn broke, he welcomed the warmth and light.

The General sat up in the grey light of daybreak and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He attempted to stretch his muscles, which were becoming evermore stiff. He cursed at his bound hands.

Hephaestion leaned back against the pole and rested his head against it, letting his eyelids fall. But they shot back open again as he felt his legs being jostled.

He raised his head to find Lissandra kneeling by him, slowly unwrapping the linen bandages from his injured leg.

She did not look at him; she focused on her work, brow knit slightly. He chose not to disturb her. Phai was not sure whether he was forgiven for earlier, so he did not to risk speaking.

The bandages were wound down enough to the point where the dried blood started to pull at his injuries.

He gritted his teeth at the sensation that was both painful and very strange at the same time.

"I stayed here again last night. I hope you do not mind." Lissandra broke the silence.

He found it very odd that she asked if he minded. He was a prisoner. It's not as if he had much of a choice in any matters at all.

But all he did was shake his head.

Silence fell between them once more. Lissandra finally pulled the bandages completely free, exposing Hephaestion's leg fully.

Her hand brushed away the healing herbs she had applied, which were now dried to his flesh.

Hephaestion was pleasantly surprised. What had once looked like nothing more than mangled flesh, now had some semblance of a human leg.

It was still swollen and dried blood clung to it in places. The skin was the ugly dark blue color of bruises. He looked a bit like the sail of a boat, sewn together and patched. But there was no doubt that it was healing.

Lissandra's thin fingers gently traced over her work. She smiled faintly.

"You are healing well. It won't be long before the stitches can be removed. But for now, it needs to be wrapped in new bandages."

She set to work, silence still hanging between them.

The General was startled when he heard her speak again; partly from the broken silence, but mostly from the question she asked.

"Who is Alexander?

He raised his gaze slowly to her. She was focused on his injuries, but that didn't stop him from boring his stare into her head.

"What?" He asked tight lipped and tense.

She sensed his anxiety and looked up at him.

"You talk in your sleep. The name Alexander crosses over lips like a prayer. You cry out for him." She said it innocently, in a matter of fact way.

He was so shocked he could do nothing but stare at her. He knew he should try to defuse the situation, but he couldn't.

Many tense seconds passed, her gaze remained soft and gentle as Lissandra spoke again.

"I have heard of your great king named Alexander." Her eyes dropped as she took up her work again, and her voice was very small as she said, "Do you call out for your King?"

Again, he could only stare.

Hephaestion had worked so hard to distance himself from the pain of the possibility of losing Alexander. But now it all seemed to burst forth from somewhere inside of him, crippling him. The sour taste of bile rose in his throat.

He barely registered when she finished the work. But he did notice that she lingered, chewing her full lips nervously and wringing her hands.

Finally the words that she had been holding back burst from her throat, "You love this man; this Alexander, whether he be king or not. Don't you?"

Hephaestion would not have stopped the 'Yes' that passed through his lips even if he had wanted to. For he knew that to deny his love for Alexander would be the greatest sacrilege and worst blasphemy. And it would never be forgiven by the gods nor would he forgive himself.

"How did you know? How could you tell?" His voice was hardly a whisper he was so overcome.

Lissandra swallowed hard before she said shakily, "You cry out for him the way my mother used to cry out for my father."

Hephaestion raised his gaze directly into hers and they stared at each other for a long moment.

She suddenly leaned forward, excitement in her eyes.

"Is it the King? This Alexander that you love? Is that why you are fighting so hard to get back? How did you become separated?"

Hephaestion was in disbelief of the girlish excitement in her eyes.

"My life is not some romantic tale to entertain you! What I have gone through is real! And why should I tell you anything? I know nothing of you, and you are willing to share nothing. You won't even tell me how you know Greek. And that in itself is a simple enough question."

He spoke so furiously the wound in his head began to pound dully.

She leaned back slowly, eyes downcast.

"I am sorry." She whispered. "You are very right."

She gathered up her things and swiftly left the tent; leaving Hephaestion alone with his tears and pain.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It was very late at night the next time Phai awoke. He spent most of his time sleeping. It helped his body heal and also let him escape this horrible ordeal.

As he sat up, he could feel her presence before he even peered through the darkness and found the light of the fires outside shining in her eyes.

Her calm voice wafted through the air like a cool night breeze, soft but with a touch of bitterness.

"I can tell you my story. But I must warn you that it is not happy and will do nothing to lift your spirits."

He wanted to tell her that rarely was anyone's story truly happy, but the General remained silent, waiting.

Lissandra began, voice slow and completely calm.

"My mother was born on a small island in the Aegean Sea. Her family was not rich but was well respected. She lived a happy life, until a fateful day. That's what it always seems to come down to doesn't it? One fateful day. And on that day, pirates attacked the island. My mother was 14 and taken hostage with all the other women to be sold as slaves. She had to trip over the corpse of her father as she was dragged to her fate. From there she was passed from hand to hand, sold periodically to a different slave trader until she reached a market inside Persian rule. It wasn't long before she was sold into the household of a rich man in the city.

"She was put to work as a lady's maid. She worked hard, and became well liked by her master's wife and daughters. But she was extremely beautiful and soon caught the master's attention. My mother was removed from that post to be more accessible to her master."

She paused. And the next time she spoke, the expression in her voice was slightly different, almost imperceptibly so.

"But her master began to fall for my mother. He was charmed by her intellect, wit, and warmth. She became more than a recreational endeavor for him. They fell in love. She was more than one of the many plucked from the harem. She became a sort of mistress, a very important mistress. In some ways, being the master's favorite, she held more power than his wife; who was weak and of an ill constitution. The wife, of course, hated my mother; knowing that she had captured her husband's heart in the way she could not."

Lissandra moved forward from the dark shadows, closer to where the General sat listening intently. But she still kept her distance.

"It wasn't long before my mother became pregnant. When he found out that she would carry his child, my father was overjoyed. My conception only solidified my mother's place in his heart. But on the other hand, this event only served to worry and agitate the rest of my father's family. If my mother bore a son, who would the master pass his wealth and power onto? The sons of his first wife? Or the first born male of his true love and favorite? It was a great source of controversy and speculation.

"But their worries were soon abated. She gave birth to a baby girl. What could be more harmless than a girl?"

Hephaestion did not miss the mirthless laughter in her voice. But as she continued, the humor lost its bitter undertone, and gained a more nostalgic lightness.

"But despite the regrettable nature of my gender, my father doted on me. From the very earliest years of my life I was spoiled. As the first born of his beloved, I was my father's favorite. He spared nothing in giving me what I wanted. I was well educated, despite of the fact that I was not male. Geography, arithmetic, politics. I studied what I pleased. But it was medicine that caught my interest. And so I was well educated in the medicinal practices of many cultures."

Hephaestion glanced down at the form of his patched up leg, where deadly injuries were on their way to becoming nothing more than dark scars and painful memories.

"I was not well accepted by my half-siblings to say the least. I was the unwanted soul that corrupted their simple life. I was the bastard child that stole their father's affections; the illegitimate daughter that was given all the privileges and love of a first-born son. I was shunned and ostracized my whole childhood. But the affection of two doting parents more than made up for it. But then my life was changed, one fateful day."

Her voice lost its sentimental airiness. A detached hollowness entered her tones.

"My father fell ill with an unknown sickness. He was dead within a fortnight. Without my father's protection, my mourning mother and I were ordered from the house, and sent essentially into exile. We were not allowed to stay for the funeral rites. And so a lone woman, and her adolescent daughter were thrown to the mercy of the world. Without any protection, it was not long before we fell into the hands of people seeking to make a profit. For the second time in her life my mother was passed from hand to hand unceremoniously, and now she had to watch her child suffer along with her.

"Eventually we were passed to Ahriman and his men. They had plans to sell my mother, but I was of too much use to them with my skills in medicine, and was to be kept. But I have always been strong willed, and let it slip that if they were to separate me from my mother, they would soon find that their next wounded man would get blood poisoning and the next might find a horrible infection eating away his flesh, requiring a limb to be amputated. And so she remained with me until the end of her days. She lived two more years with a broken heart, then it had finally eaten away at enough of her to take her life.

"And so I remain here. Playing the role of every kind of woman for these men. I am cook, maid, doctor, and concubine. I am a mother cleaning for them, a daughter serving them, and a wife in their beds. And I will live this cursed life until my soul is called forth by the gods."

She ended her tale with sharp finality. The emptiness of her years to come echoed in her voice. And Hephaestion was silent.

Lissandra moved even closer and he could see her features in the dim firelight coming through the tent.

"And so General, to answer your previous question that you have so desperately clung to," she said with a small smile on her lips, "though I grew up speaking Persian, my mother also taught me her native Greek tongue."

They were silent for a long time. Hephaestion studied her face closely, Lissandra picked at the fraying hem of her dress.

Finally the General spoke, "Why do stay? Leave! Escape! They obviously don't keep you chained up."

The beautiful woman laughed hollowly.

"And go where?" She asked with a hopeless smile. "Do what? I am all alone. _And_ a ruined woman with no fortune. What man would take me? I am not even fit to serve as a maid in a respectable house. No, I would not risk it. There are worse fates that could fall upon me; much worse. Though I have thought about it, I would never attempt it. But I admit, the thought of freedom taunts me constantly."

She closed her eyes slowly, and silvery tears crept down her cheeks.

Something came over Hephaestion and before he knew what he was doing, he reached out and seized one of her small, dark hands in both of his bound ones. He looked into her watery eyes, and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

This woman before him had endured so much, and only broke after having to recount her miseries aloud.

Lissandra smiled softly at him before slowly retracting her hand and wiping away the tears.

Hephaestion wanted to comfort her in some way; it was just his instinct, his nature.

He could only think of one thing.

"Since you have answered all of my questions, I will answer a few of yours." He spoke softly.

She sat back slightly, retreating a bit more back into the shadows, but remained silent.

"When I call out for Alexander, I call out for many things. For my King, my brother, the missing piece of my soul, and yes for my lover."

He spoke lowly as he recounted his full tale, from the fateful battle to his run in with Ahriman. He also told of his childhood at Pella with Alexander; and described for her a number of small unimportant things that he thought would cheer her up. He spoke of Alexander and his impossible stubbornness that infuriated and made him smile all at the same time; of the first time he held Alexander's hand; and of how impossibly soft his golden hair was.

The General talked and talked, getting lost in his own words, his own reminisces; lost in his own love. He didn't know how long he had been talking when he glanced up and squinted through the darkness to see Lissandra laying on her side, curled up with her knees at her chest, deep in sleep.

He leaned back and smiled fondly at her, noting the grin that lingered on her lips, even as Hypnos took her.

* * *

><p><strong>A HUGE hug for everyone who reviewed! You guys keep this writer writing! :)<strong>

**Lyrics are from 'Home' by the Foo Fighters, one of the best American rock bands ever!**

**Hope the whole 'overlapping dreams' thing isn't too corny. I had some reservations, but did it anyway. We hear more about Lissandra here. She really didn't start out as much, but then she really developed a nice back story. Plus I just love a strong woman in a male dominated world. And if you haven't noticed it yet, the name 'Ahriman' has a certain meaning behind it also, particularly for Lissandra.**

**So, love it? Hate it? Tell me, otherwise I don't get better!**

**Thank you so much for reading!**

**xxcrazymacxx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Homeward**

_Chapter Six_

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-._

_Cold is the water_

_It freezes your already cold mind_

_Already cold, cold mind_

_And death is at your doorstep_

_And it will steal your innocence_

_But it will not steal your substance_

_But you are not alone in this_

_And you are not alone in this_

_As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand_

_Hold your hand_

-'Timshel' by Mumford & Sons

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Lissandra and Hephaestion spent a few more days in sibling-like camaraderie. And Phai was glad to have something to distract him from the direness of his situation. But as each day subsided into the next a sickening knot began to tighten in some part of his gut. His fate loomed before him like an imminent cloud.

One day, as Lissandra knelt before him changing his bandages, the opening of the tent was thrown back. Ahriman entered. He scanned over the place with his cold eyes, and then spoke brusquely to Lissandra through is gnarled mouth. He spoke in Persian so Hephaestion could only guess at what he was saying.

He seemed to have asked a question, because Lissandra answered him in equally gruff tones. And then the undamaged half of Ahriman's mouth pulled up into a wicked grin. Hephaestion could hear the laughter in his voice as he spoke once more. Before the man left, he glanced wickedly at Hephaestion and chuckled slowly.

This exchange, though he understood none of it, did not leave the General feeling very well. Especially when he saw the expression that had come over Lissandra's beautiful face. Her full lips were tight, eyebrows knit; her eyes had a blank kind of terror in them as she raised her gaze slowly to meet his.

"What is it?" He spoke urgently.

She was very still and silent for a long time. Hephaestion wondered if they had gone back to the point where she would not answer any of his questions.

"He asked me how you were healing." She finally said quietly, "I told him fair enough. Then he said…"

She took a deep breath before finishing.

"He said to not work too hard in getting you well. For it would be a pointless effort, because they have found someone interested in you. In two days time…you will be passed into the hands of your enemy."

The terror that had been building up in Hephaestion's mind came to a sudden boil.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Alexander knew they all thought he was crazy.

He could hear them whisper as he passed by; hear them suddenly stop conversations as he approached. He saw the looks they gave him; expressions a mixture of pity, fear, and reproach.

They all thought he was clinging desperately onto nothing more than a delusion. But he knew it was more than a delusion, it was a hope. He would admit that a hope was not much better than a delusion, but with a hope there is a chance, however slim it might be.

The army had been at a standstill for weeks. Their search efforts soon proved futile, and so now the King kept his men encamped in the same location. Waiting. Just waiting.

This was not a wise thing to do, he knew. Men grew restless and hungry with wanderlust. He noticed fights starting frequently and easily among his soldiers. And he was aware of the strain this put on supplies, and the waste it was creating. But he could not move onward, because there was still a hope.

He was also aware of the "secret" meetings his generals have been holding. They were most definitely discussing him. But in the end he was Alexander of Macedon and he held the power.

And so he languished in that place, holding onto nothing but a hope.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

There had been a span of time in that initial moment that General Hephaestion had heard his fate when he felt fear and self-pity. He felt his insides run cold and his head began to spin.

With fear overtaking him he had struggled desperately in his bounds. He had tried every maneuver of escape. From trying to bite through his bindings to attempting to dig the stake he was tied to right out of the ground, it was all a worthless effort.

But now, hours later in the dead of night, he was calm; not content, not necessarily peaceful, but calm. In his own way he accepted what was to come, his own eventual death.

He busied himself saying goodbye to the world. He only wished he could have been outside to see the stars once more before he faced torture and then Hades. Instead he filled his head with every happy thought he could recollect.

Being held by his mother, pressed close into her bosom, face peppered with her kisses. His father, teaching him to ride a horse and hold a sword, eyes crinkling as he smiled and told him he was becoming a man. Swimming in the cool waters of the river with his brothers, all of their faces turning red from the sun. Alexander's young face bursting into a smile from something he said, like the sun coming over the horizon. Lying under a tree in the heat of the summer with Alexander's adolescent voice saying, "You're my best friend, Phai." His own hand trembling as it reached out to pull his Xander's face to his own. The morning sun shining off the sweat collected on Alexander's naked body. A thousand caresses, a million "I love you"s.

Hephaestion saw, heard, and felt them all one last time.

As a few stray tears ran down his face, he was not sure if they were tears of sadness for a life cut short, or tears of joy for the glorious life he had been given.

He heaved a sigh and was on the brink of slipping into a wonderful sleep where those memories would bend into dreams, when a noise pulled him back.

A form moved through the tent, swiftly and silently. Then, a single lamp was lit.

"Lissandra?" He spoke, seeing her face.

"Ssshh!" She quieted him.

Hephaestion was suddenly very aware that something was going on. She had never silenced him thus before.

She bustled about momentarily, and then knelt before him as she had done so many times before.

Silently, she began to press at his bandaged wounds. They had healed enough that he winced only slightly in response.

"Good." She mumbled as she dug through her wooden box of medicines.

The General's eyes widened as she extracted a tiny knife. But it was his mouth that fell open as she leaned forward and severed the binds at his wrists.

The rope fell away, but Hephaestion was frozen, gaping at the woman.

She was digging in the box again, but glanced back up to his stunned face.

"Well get up!" She whispered fiercely like he was an idiot.

He followed her directions slowly, rubbing his chaffed wrists. His knees were wobbly and muscles stiff from lack of use. Tenderly, he placed weight onto his injured leg. It ached badly, but not so much that it was unbearable.

He stood there, unsure, until Lissandra threw something at him. He found himself holding a pack; containing what, he did not know.

Lissandra's face was set in determination and eerie in the glow of the single lamp.

"Follow me. Quietly!" She hissed and moved to the back of the tiny tent.

He attempted to follow, but found that his knees wanted to give out from underneath him and his muscles would not cooperate correctly. His injury caused him to have to shuffle awkwardly, half dragging his leg behind the rest of him.

She sliced a slit through the cloth wall with her knife, and held it open for him. He paused next to her.

"What-?" He began to ask.

But she cut him off with a harsh, whispered command, "GO!"

He obeyed and she soon followed after, beckoning him to follow her into the dark camp.

He hobbled behind her as they moved on the perimeter of the encampment. Every once and a while she would glance behind with an annoyed expression and motion for him to hurry up. He wanted to shout at her that he was doing the best he could. He didn't of course.

She turned suddenly, away from the site, and began to lead him into the night. He knew better than to ask any questions.

After many long, painful minutes for Hephaestion they approached a low, shrubby tree. And tied to it he spotted a horse. His horse, in fact.

"Damon." He breathed excitedly, reaching out and rubbing down the animal's nose.

Damon whinnied loudly in the thrill of seeing his much-missed master.

Hephaestion immediately wrapped his arms around Damon's muzzle, quieting the steed.

He found that Damon was already clad in his saddlecloth and reins. Hephaestion glanced over at Lissandra with questioning eyes. Did this mean what he thought it meant?

"Ride straight east toward the rising sun." She commanded in a matter-of-fact voice. "About a two hour ride away, you will find the river. We are actually farther upstream from where they found you, so you are closer to your destination than you know. In the bag is your knife, extra bandages, and what food I could smuggle away. You must ride swiftly, through the night. I will delay the notice of your absence as long as possible, but I cannot promise you much time. Ride fast, and hard. Do not worry about straining your horse, you must get as far ahead as possible."

Hephaestion almost couldn't speak. But finally he did.

"Why are you doing this for me?"

She swallowed, "Because I will not stand by and watch the death of someone so deserving of life."

He stared at her for a long moment.

"Come with me!" He said abruptly.

The corners of her mouth twitched upward, as if she knew he would say that.

"I will only slow you down. You must finish this journey alone."

"I want you to come with me. We can make it!"

Her head shook in a silent 'no', "Come with you and do what? Become a new entertainment for your men? I will not."

"You can do anything you want. Be a maid, a cook, a doctor to the men, whatever you want! You will have my protection!" He said desperately.

"You are wasting time." She snapped pushing him to mount his horse.

"What will happen to you when they find me missing? They will know!"

Again, she smiled, "I will cover my tracks. I will be fine. You give them more credit than they deserve. And I much too valuable for them to do any serious damage. Go!"

"Please!" He gripped her arms tightly.

He could not leave this woman to this life. He could not abandon his savior to this fate. In truth, he was very attached to Lissandra; he loved her in a way.

With tears forming in her eyes, she unexpectedly threw her arms around Hephaestion's neck. She whispered softly into his ear.

"Go to your King, General Hephaestion. You have kept him waiting long enough."

And with that she retracted a little, and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek before pulling completely away.

Though she was crying, the General could see that there would be no swaying her. She would stay, and sacrifice her freedom for his. He could not find the words to thank her.

There were no words to thank her.

So instead, he gently took her small face between his large hands and softly kissed her on the forehead. She smiled at him again, but he could not bring himself to smile back.

Slowly, he mounted Damon and turned him east. He looked back to her and extended his hand, giving her another chance.

To his great astonishment, she reached out and took his hand in her grasp. But she did not use it to pull herself onto his mount; instead she gave it a small squeeze.

"Remove the stitches in one week. Cut right down the middle, and make sure to get all the thread from the skin. Keep it bandaged with the herbs I put in the bag for another 2 weeks, you know how to apply them. By then, you should be perfectly fine. May you travel with the speed of Hermes, my General."

And with that she released his grasp, and slapped Damon's flank, sending horse and rider into the black night.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hephaestion felt so horribly sick. He had been riding for over an hour with Damon at a full gallop. He kept his eyes fixed on the first misty tendrils of dawn's light that extended over the horizon.

He worried about the strain he was putting on Damon, who had been fairly inactive for some time. He could hear the horse letting out loud pants beneath him. But his faithful friend never attempted to slow the pace.

By the time they reached the cliffs that dropped down to the sweeping river, morning had broken and the warm sun shone directly on the General's skin for the first time in weeks. He squinted against the brilliant light and could not keep himself from slowing Damon and staring at the rising sun.

He had thought he would never get to see it again.

He took the horse down the cliff on a rough, narrow path that looked like it was probably made by native wildlife coming to drink at the river.

The horse drank his fill at the bank, but Hephaestion did not dare to dismount. Because not only was he unsure that he could support his own weight very long, but after his long stint astride his horse, his wounds have begun to ache sharply. They throbbed horribly from the friction of rubbing against the animal's side and from the great deal of jostling they were receiving.

He tried not to let the pain get to him as the two set off again at a lively pace.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A few more hours, and the discomfort was getting worse. There were a few times when he thought he would slip right off Damon's back because he simply could not grip the beast's sides with his legs anymore.

He knew that his absence at his captors' camp has probably been noticed by now. But it was hard to keep pushing on.

Hephaestion was a skilled rider, but these injuries were taking their toll. And despite Lissandra's direct orders, he was forced to slow Damon's gait to a trot. He needed to alleviate some of the pain for a moment.

But the burning ache continued to fester in his leg, and the pain began to get to his head.

A sheen of sweat was forming on his face and he found himself breathing heavily through his mouth.

The General was conserving what little supplies he had, for he knew he would not be in any shape to gather anything for himself. So, soon the pangs of hunger set in.

But still he pushed on, through the tiredness and pain. He had to. Not only for himself and Alexander, but also for the woman who risked everything to hand him his freedom. He would not allow her efforts to be in vain.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

He rode through the day and entirely through the next night, guided by nothing but the blank stars and the sound of moving water.

But early evening of the second day, he could feel his resolve slipping.

The pain in his leg had swelled to an agony, and the leg itself had also swelled enormously. He could see stripes of blood seeping to the top of the bandages where the stitches had been disturbed. His mind, too, was going from lack of food and sleep.

He clung to the image of Alexander's face, but even this was growing hazy in his mind's eye. He became aware he was muttering to himself, incomprehensible murmurs and unfeasible broken sentences that he himself could not decipher.

He knew that this, all of this; the heat, his injuries, his sleeplessness, his hunger, his guilt, his fear, his sheer desperation; it was killing him. He was feeling the strength leak from his very pores.

He wanted to go on, he wanted to stand firm, but the tenacity was escaping him. He was bedraggled, and tired, and he wanted rest.

It must have been midnight the second night when he felt himself leaning too far to the left atop of Damon. He could not find the strength to pull himself back up, and instead just let his fatigued body drop from the walking horse.

But he never felt his body hit the cold, hard ground.

Instead he felt warm, and snug. He smelled grass and felt the gentle tug of wind in his hair.

When he opened his eyes he could not see the cold stars, but a clear, robin's egg blue sky, and a bright, happy sun sending down it's rays upon his skin. And there was no rocky ground digging into his flesh; but rather, long, soft, green grass cradling him.

Hephaestion looked around, eyes wide and very confused. He turned his head to the right and gasped.

He was looking straight into the face of Alexander; he was staring directly into those brown eyes.

Xander was lying just like him; on his back in the field of grass, head turned to the left to stare into Hephaestion's face. The General saw a flicker of a smile flash across the King's features.

Hephaestion knew very quickly that this was either a dream or a delusion. But honestly, he was willing to accept either, because it was wonderful. He was beyond caring about his sanity and chose to bask in the heaven that was being presented to him.

Though he and Xander were lying side by side, there was enough distance between them that they could not touch, though each had an arm extended towards the other.

There was distance, but Hephaestion could see him, so he would take it.

Alexander spoke first, "I've missed you."

His voice had a strange echo to it, a lingering resonance.

"I have missed you too" The General responded, his voice equally strange.

They just smiled at each other for a few moments. Hephaestion watched the impossibly bright sun shine in Alexander's golden locks like it was woven there; it shimmered off his tan skin.

Xander's smile suddenly faltered.

"Why did you leave me?" He asked, hurt.

"I didn't want to. I was taken from you." Hephaestion answered like he was soothing the worries of a small child. "I've been trying to get back."

"I know."

That's all Alexander says.

They stare again, locking gazes. Hephaestion swears he hears a bird sing somewhere in the distance as the wind blows the soft grasses around their forms, their bodies making imprints in the foliage like footprints in the snow.

"I've been waiting for you." Xander finally offers. "A long time. They want me to give up hope."

Phai's worst fears were manifested in that one sentence: _'They want me to give up hope.'_

He spoke suddenly, swiftly, and starkly, "You _must_ not give up hope, Xander! Please, I will find you. I will get back to you. But you can't give up! Be patient, love. Be patient and wait for me! _**Please!**_ _Wait for me!"_

Hephaestion felt a strange dragging feeling in his gut, a sense of pulling through his body, and he knew that his little sliver of rapture was coming to a close. Alexander's face seemed to fade away with the light of the sun.

All he could do was keep repeating it over and over.

_"I love you. Wait for me. I love you. Wait for me."_

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-._

Alexander sat up swiftly and suddenly in his bed. His eye blinking against the brilliant sunlight that was no longer there, Hephaestion's face flashing on the inside of his eyelids, an afterimage imprinted there by a sun that had been nothing more than an illusion. And he could still hear his Phai's voice as if it were coming from the very walls of his quarters.

_"Wait for me."_

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry that its been a while. I've been really busy with school as so forth. But there it is. Ginormous bear hugs for all of last chapter's reviewers! :D<strong>

**Lyrics are from Timshel by Mumford and Sons. They are my new obsession and an AMAZING band. The word 'timshel' comes from Hebrew and means 'thou mayest'. It's taken from the book East of Eden and is basically saying that the help is there, but its your choice to take it. Fitting, yes?**

**I know, I know. More overlapping dreams. But the response before was very positive and I thought it would be a good thing to echo.**

**Only one more chapter and then the epilogue...so we're winding down here folks.**

**So, do you like it? Or do you think I should have my fingers cut off so I could never type out such an atrocity again. Either way, let me know. ;)**

**Thank you for reading!**

**xxcrazymacxx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Homeward**

_Chapter Seven_

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-._

_My heart is beating from me_

_I am standing all alone_

_Please call me only_

_If you are coming home_

- 'Homecoming' by Green Day

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Alexander, be reasonable!" Cassander's fist landed with a demanding thud on the surface of the table. "You are acting a fool and slowly destroying your own army!"

The King surveyed his general like one watching a child throw a tantrum.

"So you call your King a fool now, Cassander?" He asked.

It was Nearchus who spoke up next, "We all know you are not a fool, Sire. But you are doing a pretty impressive imitation of one."

Alexander looked about the room where his generals had cornered him. They stood around the table he was seated at and stared at him with stony faces.

They thought they had surprised him. But he knew this was coming. He knew that they would come to doubt, come to question, come to challenge him.

Ptolemy came forward, "Alexander, we know that you have lost someone dear, but lingering in this place is only putting a strain on supplies, agitating the men, and putting the forces as a whole at great risk."

The King sighed, "I know what you say is true. But I don't think _you_ realize how true your words are. I have_ lost_ someone. Hephaestion is _lost._ Not dead."

Cleitus burst forward in a surge of frustrated anger, "Hephaestion is gone, Alexander! We have no reason to believe him alive! It is daft to wait here like a herd of cattle waiting for the slaughter! If it had been anyone else-"

"It was not anyone else!" Alexander suddenly snapped.

His tone silenced the whole room.

He continued, "I can hardly believe how disgusted I am by you. All of you. You are worried about what I have lost, but you forget what you have lost. Your comrade, your companion, your brother in arms. Did you all not ride into battle with him at your side? And you are willing to give up on him so easily? Give him time."

'_Wait for me.' _The words floated through his mind as if Hephaestion were there, whispering them into his ear.

"It is not something we want to do, Alexander. But it is the only logical course of action." Ptolemy spoke gently to the angry and troubled man.

Alexander shook his head.

"We remain here for a dead man." Craterus said, a little harshly.

Alexander fixed him under a cold stare, "We remain here until the King gives the order to move. I stay, and the army stays with me."

"Perhaps not."

The whisper filled with a certain venom reached Alexander's ears and he sat up straight as a rod and pinned the speaker under his gaze.

"You talk of mutiny, Cassander?" He seethed, "You best watch that tongue of yours, boy. For I have little patience for it, you traitorous swine."

Cassander's face was red with anger and frustration. And he took no heed of the warning, slamming another fist down he yelled, _"We are waiting for a ghost!"_

"I have been called many things my lifetime, but 'ghost' is definitely a first."

Every head in the room swiveled around to the entrance where the voice that spoke those words had come from.

And there he stood, the red light of the setting sun streaming in behind him, creating a dramatic shadow around his form. He looked like a mixture between a hero of the myths and a valiant, battle-worn warrior of the Poet's epics.

His hair, long and matted, was caked in dirt and sweat. Grime covered his skin; and perspiration gleamed on his brow, mixed with the blood streaming from a newly reopened head wound. His clothing hung on his dramatic, muscular frame torn and soiled and the bandages wound around his leg were filthy and awash with blood.

But his head was held high, and his eyes shone bright and clear.

The whole room seemed to hang in suspended animation. Until someone breathed, "Hephaestion."

Then the entire assembly lurched forward towards the resurrected man.

What seemed like a thousand voices rose up at once, exclamations and questions of disbelief. Hephaestion was pulled into the room and embraced by the whole of it. Some clapped him on the back as if to affirm if he were really there.

But suddenly the din waned and the throng that encircled the lost General separated. Alexander came forward and stood a few feet away.

Hephaestion's focus had been jumping sporadically around, but now it suddenly landed and was completely monopolized.

The two stared at each other for a very long moment in the hushed silence of the crowded room.

But the audience melted away into the fuzzy edges of a dream as they moved together, Alexander walking, Hephaestion hobbling. Each one's heart hammered against their ribs, their breath frantic with anticipation.

Finally they stood nose to nose. Both of their eyes were holding the same expression; a knowing sort of wonder, like seeing something you have been waiting your entire life for and finding it to be even better than you could have imagined.

The King reached a single hand out and rested it against his Phai's chest just above his heart to make sure it was still beating strong and true. Hephaestion reached both grimy hands out and placed them on either side of his Xander's face and brought his lover's forehead forward to meet his own.

And they rested there; forehead to forehead, eyes closed, breathing in each other's breath, just existing together.

"I knew you would come." Alexander sighed, barely audible.

"I knew you would wait." Hephaestion answered.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Alexander paced like an anxious dog as the physician looked over Hephaestion's wounds.

He would stop every so often, sigh in exasperation that the physician was not telling him anything, and then resume wearing a trail in the floor. Sometimes he would bite his lip and suck in his breath at the sight of his Phai's pieced together leg.

They were in Alexander's own quarters, where the King had ordered him to be taken once the two had pulled away from their long moment of reunion.

Alexander had taken a small step back, looked his General up and down once, and then snapped at the rest of the room, "Go get a doctor, you idiots!"

And now said doctor allayed all of Alexander's fears and told him that Hephaestion had been well cared for early on in his injuries and would be perfectly fine. He was now just suffering from the early stages of starvation and thirst, as well as exhaustion. The physician also looked a little annoyed when Hephaestion handed him the herbs that had been prescribed to him by a rival medic.

A bath was drawn for him, and Alexander helped him scrub at his hair to restore it to its former glory. Hephaestion ran his finger gently over the neat rows of stitches covering his leg and swallowed back the emotion that rose in his throat.

An hour later, Hephaestion was clean, his stomach was full, his wounds were bandaged, and his eyelids were heavy.

He slipped easily between the blankets of Alexander's wide bed, and then just as easily into the same man's arms. They held each other so close that each lost track of his own skin.

"Will you tell me what happened?" The King whispered through the soft darkness.

"Yes," Hephaestion answered with a smile at his love's impatience, "But in the morning. Right now, just hold me."

They nestled more securely into each other's embrace and were taken by Hypnos, dreaming of the open, grassy field where they had once lain together under the same radiant sun, except this time they were in each other's arms.

* * *

><p><strong>This is the last 'official chapter' only the epilogue left. Honestly it kinda depresses me that its almost over. I have had sooo much fun writing this!<strong>

**Lyrics are from "Homecoming" by Green Day, a special band for me.**

**This was a rather short chapter, but I hope you liked Phai's dramatic entrance...in my head it was SO badass! :D**

**Lots-a-love for those that reviewed last chapter! Thanks you guys!**

**Reviews make my world go round, so let me know what you think!**

**xxcrazymacxx**


	8. Epilogue

**Homeward**

_Epilogue_

_.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-._

_Wherever I am, you'll always be_

_More than just a memory_

-'If I Ever Leave This World Alive' by Flogging Molly

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hephaestion sat astride Damon at the top of a hill, looking down into the valley. Nestled below was sprawling city, newly conquered by the advancing Greek army.

It was quite a beautiful sight and he sat there, absentmindedly stroking Damon's neck, getting lost in his own thoughts and memories.

He was so lost in the labyrinth of his own mind that he didn't hear another rider approach.

Alexander halted Bucephalus next to Damon, and stared out over the valley as well.

"A rich city." He finally commented to his quiet General, "A good victory for the men."

They were silent.

"It's rather beautiful, isn't it?" The King said.

It truly was, with its high walls and towering buildings, all settled in a green valley near a winding river. The setting sun peeked other the low hills on the opposite side, casting sections in shadow.

"Yes." Hephaestion answered.

Again, there was an easy silence.

"Well, my Phai." Alexander said lightly, "You know my habit of changing the names of cities. What will this one be, love?"

The General raised an eyebrow, "You will not be calling it Alexandria?"

Alexander smiled, "Well, not if you can come up with a better name for it."

Hephaestion looked at him and then back into the peaceful valley.

It was perfect, the whole place had a peaceful, caring warmth to it; but the mighty swiftness of the rapid river added a harsh bite of strength and determination that was ready to rear its head at any moment.

Just like her.

"Lissandria." He spoke definitively, it was not a question or suggestion.

Alexander glanced sideways at his Phai, and then took his hand gently.

"So it will be."

**~FIN~**

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, there's the end of my tale. Thank you all so much for sticking with me and for the reviews! Hugs for all my reviewers! The lyrics from Flogging Molly are very special to me and very fitting to the story.<strong>

**I'm sure that some will be mad that I end this way, with no really answers about the end of Lissandra's story. But I can justify myself. It's just that I have a problem with a 'rescued' Lissandra. She's not a damsel in distress...she's much too strong for that. And to have Hephaestion come riding in on a magnificent horse to save her like a knight in shining armor doesn't do her justice. If Lissandra escapes it will be by her own right and through her own determination and will. Because that's who she is. She's come to mean so much more to me than a woman who needs a man to rescue her. Phai will always be grateful and always remember, but she needs to be her own savior just as she was his.**

**So that being said, perhaps there will be a kind of one-shot sequel thing to tie up her loose ends. Let me know what you think and we will see.**

**But as for this story, I can officially change it's status to 'complete'! I'm both sad and happy about this.**

**Again thanks for reading! I love all y'alls! :)**

**xxcrazymacxx**

**Fun Fact: Alexander did named all of his cities Alexandria, except one. But the one was named after Bucephalus. :)**


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